


Nothing But Notes

by missmichellebelle



Series: Alternate Meetings [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Meeting, Fluff, M/M, Romance, scrapbooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 21:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just as Blaine is the youngest person to work at the store, he’s probably the youngest person to set foot in the store period. Scrapbooking is, unfortunately, an art form that most people his age do not share any sort of enthusiasm or passion for, and Blaine had been a frequent shopper at Nothing But Notes long before he became an employee. He hadn’t spent every second in the store or anything ridiculous like that, but Blaine probably would have bet a set of craft scissors that no one else under the age of thirty ever came through those glass doors.</p><p>It’s a good thing he made no such bet, of course, because he was apparently very, very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But Notes

**Author's Note:**

> **Anonymous asked:** Blaine works at a scrap booking store and has a crush on the pretty blue eyed boy who comes in every few weeks to stock up on stuff for his wedding planning albums :)

The first time Blaine sees  _him_ , it’s only his second day at work and Judith is training him at the cutting table. The most difficult part is unloading the rolls of paper from the wall and then slotting them into the designated space on the table, and Blaine feels little jolts of failure every time he fumbles with one of the rolls and there’s that harsh sound of crinkling paper. But Judith is an older woman, with laugh lines around her eyes, and she smiles at him in a fond sort of way.

“It’s okay, we’ll use that roll to practice cutting,” she says, and Blaine sends a grateful smile back. He’s not only the youngest person working at  _Nothing But Notes_ , but he’s also the only  _he_ —the woman who had hired him, as well as the women he works with, all hover over him like a troop of grandmothers. In fact, Blaine is sure that at least half of them are grandmothers, and the other half definitely have children (except for Beth, who he is pretty sure has three cats). It’s not the sort of store that most teenage boys rush at the opportunity to work for, but Blaine isn’t exactly an ordinary teenage boy.

Besides, he really likes scrapbooking.

It’s a Tuesday, and there are no other customers in the store, and the roll of paper he’s holding looks like an old fashioned picnic blanket. Judith is showing him how to load the roll for the fifth time (because the first four had resulted in tears and Blaine apologizing profusely), when the tiny bell on the door announces a customer with a musical jingle and Blaine hears Mary say her chipper, “Good afternoon!”

In fact, Blaine thinks nothing of it, because it’s  _one_  customer and Mary can handle  _one_ customer, but then that customer is back by the paper, browsing the precut squares with his hands folding gracefully at the small of his back.

It is a  _very_  nice back.

Just as Blaine is the youngest person to work at the store, he’s probably the youngest person to set foot in the store  _period_. Scrapbooking is, unfortunately, an art form that most people his age do not share any sort of enthusiasm or passion for, and Blaine had been a frequent shopper at  _Nothing But Notes_  long before he became an employee. He hadn’t spent every second in the store or anything ridiculous like that, but Blaine probably would have bet a set of craft scissors that no one else under the age of thirty ever came through those glass doors.

It’s a good thing he made no such bet, of course, because he was apparently very, very wrong.

What’s more incredulous is that it’s a  _boy_ , a boy who must be around his age (taller, but that doesn’t necessarily mean older, especially since Blaine isn’t exactly  _tall_ ) and is wearing pants that are so tight that Blaine suddenly feels lightheaded, like his own circulation has been cut off.

Judith clears her throat, Blaine blushes and stops staring, and  _he_  buys a sheet of black and white stripes and one a deep grey with a slight texture.

*

 _He_  comes back the next week, when Blaine is lucky enough to be one of the people working on register. It’s busier than it was the time before, and Blaine’s luck runs out when the boy ends up going to Maggie’s register instead of his.

He pays with cash, buys a sheet of ivory of a subtle white paisley emboldened into it, and makes a comment on the novelty food erasers displayed in a glass bowl by the register.

It’s the first time Blaine sees his face and the sharp, clear blue color of his eyes, and the first time he hears the high, musical quality of his voice.

The bell jingles when he leaves, and Blaine buys one of the novelty erasers that looks like a cupcake—just because.

*

Blaine’s been there a full month before he learns the boy-with-the-blue-eyes’s name. It’s just past Halloween and the store has transformed from an adorable attempt at spooky to full Christmas festivity. Blaine loves Christmas, and he especially loves the soft hum of Christmas carols that now plays over the store’s humble sound system. Beth insists that it’s because it’s his first time working during the holidays, and soon that holiday cheer will turn into extreme annoyance at all Christmas songs.

In the meantime, however, Blaine makes the most out of humming along with “Silver Bells” as he switches pumpkin stamps for snowflakes and Santa Claus faces.

The door jingles, and Blaine looks up at the same time that Sara goes, “Kurt!” from where she’s standing at the register. And, unless Sara has suddenly picked up some strange form of Tourette’s, she must be addressing the customer who just walked in, the customer who is none other than  _him_.

And apparently his name is Kurt.

And then Kurt calls back and equally friendly, “Mrs. Fletcher!” and Blaine sort of just stands there and stares and wishes he could make out their soft spoken conversation.

He’s distracted the whole time Kurt is there; he buys three rolls of ribbon—deep crimson, dusty orange, a golden yellow, and smiles at Sara when he leaves.

Blaine puts all of the reindeer stamps in the holly berry section and has to redo it to the slinky melody of “Santa Baby.”

*

Luck is with Blaine the fourth time.

It’s only a few days later, and it’s just him and Judith again. There’s only one customer in the store, and Judith is helping her pick out a set of stationary as a gift, while Blaine zones the notebooks even though they are practically perfect already. The door opens, and Blaine turns with a smile, halfway through saying, “Welcome to Nothing But Notes,” when the words sort of shrivel and die on his tongue.

Because it’s  _him_  again—it’s  _Kurt_.

Kurt, who looks at him in surprise, and it occurs to Blaine that he has seen Kurt three times—four now—before, but Kurt has never seen Blaine. He looks at Blaine like he isn’t sure what to do with the image, and Blaine wishes that the uniform wasn’t basically a peach colored apron. Blaine’s never been self conscious about what he wears to work—the ladies all find his polo-sweater-bow tie combinations incredibly charming.

And in all the times Blaine has thought about speaking to Kurt, he had never taken into consideration what he’d be  _wearing_.

Blaine fights the urge to pet nervously over the royal purple of the bow tie he’s currently wearing, and works instead on putting forth his most friendly and natural smile.

It feels a little like a wince.

Blaine is pretty sure it will send Kurt off on whatever he plans on doing, but, instead, Kurt makes a beeline straight for him.

Blaine nearly scatters moleskin journals all over the floor.

“Hi—” Kurt pauses, tilting his head a bit and squinting his ( _gorgeous, enchanting, entrancing, lovely, blue, green?, grey?, blue, blue, blue_ ) eyes at Blaine’s apron, “—Blaine.”

Blaine blinks in confusion, eyebrows furrowing, and Kurt’s eyebrows lift in something like amusement.

“Nametag,” he elaborates, and Blaine wants to now bury himself in moleskin journals, because  _of course_.

“Right, hi—” Blaine has to stop himself from saying Kurt’s name, because that would be creepy. Kurt doesn’t have a nametag, Kurt has never met Blaine, Blaine should not, through any  _normal_  means, know Kurt’s name.

_It’s not like I Facebook stalked it off him, I just overheard it… And then remembered it._

“Can I help you?” Blaine rushes to ask, voice friendly and polite, if a little strained. It’s better than him saying something worse.

“Yes, actually! I need glitter. Lots of glitter,” Kurt says, his voice serious, but threaded with barely contained excitement that makes Blaine smile.

“Were you looking for any kind of glitter in particular? Color, size, shape preference?” Blaine blinks a bit as he leads Kurt back to where they keep the glitter containers, wondering when he became an expert in  _glitter_. Sometimes he is astounded by his own gayness.

“Preferably non-toxic,” Kurt supplies, and Blaine slows to a stop and stares at him.

“Come again?”

Kurt looks simultaneously frustrated and embarrassed.

“Non-toxic.”

“Um.” Blaine glances over at Judith, but she seems completely lost in the world of stationary and Blaine knows he’s on his own. “A few of the smaller glitters would work best if you’re worried about someone ingesting any—”

“Oh, no, no one is going to be eating any. I plan on feeding it to doves.”

Blaine feels drawn up short again, his mouth gaping open slightly.

“Feeding it to…”

“Doves.” Kurt frowns. “You must have a glitter I can feed doves.”

“I—” Blaine throws another furtive glance at Judith’s back. “I don’t believe so, no.” Kurt looks deflated. “Can I ask why? Perhaps there’s something—”

“My dad is getting married next weekend, and I was very intent on doves, but maybe my vision works better without them.”

Blaine has never heard anyone talk so forlornly about doves.

“Well… Congratulations.” Blaine says, earnestly, and Kurt’s smiling again.

“Thank you. I’ve only known for a few days, and I’m planning the whole thing—luckily I had a good fall palette already—” Kurt stops abruptly, coloring and rocking back a step. “Sorry, you don’t—”

“No, I…” Blaine hesitates for a second, and then realizes that they’re both standing in front of a glitter display and how much worse can Kurt judge him? “I love weddings.”

Kurt’s face blanks in surprise at first, but then lights up in excitement until he’s bouncing slightly on his feet, and then he’s talking in short bursts—mentioning the ribbon Blaine saw him buy a few days before, talking about dresses and flowers and using his hands as if he’s painting pictures in the air between them.

“Oh,” Kurt says suddenly, eyes widening as he stops right in between a rant about the overuse of baby’s breath in bouquets, “Sorry, I’ve just been rambling and I should probably go. I really only came in for the glitter.”

“It’s okay. I don’t get to talk about these sorts of things very often, so I didn’t mind—I don’t mind,” Blaine quickly corrects, and Kurt smiles.

“I don’t get to talk about it very much, either,” Kurt admits quietly, tacking a small shrug on the end. “Thank you for indulging me, Blaine.”

Blaine really likes the way it sounds when Kurt says his name.

“Any time.” He hopes Kurt knows how much he means it.

Kurt is halfway towards the door when he turns back around, a bit of color in his cheeks, and says, “Kurt. My name is Kurt.”

And Blaine can smile back and say, “It’s nice to meet you.”

It isn’t until the door has swung shut and the bell as stilled and fallen silent that he notices the way Judith is looking at him, her eyebrows raised and her lips drawn in a look of amusement.

Blaine blushes, turning back towards the glitter and beginning to fiddle with the containers. Some of the labels aren’t facing forward, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a sequel, [Gold Satin Ribbon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/790289).


End file.
